Determination
by TaylorGibbs
Summary: When the Frog and Kort strike out at Jenny personally, there is a large price to pay. Gen, AU. Mentions of torture.


Author Note: This is an AU story and as such, I played a bit with the years in which Gibbs and Jenny were together. This story is set immediately after Bury Your Dead.

He'd been with this psychopath for ten long hours now and he was tired. His feet hurt, his hands were aching. He had a broken finger, he was sure, and had lost some toenails. And Trent Kort had worked him over something bad.

He hated the Frog, and he was pretty upset at his mother too. If only his dad knew about him, he'd save him. But he didn't even know Connor existed. Connor was on his own for this one. But he was strong. Connor was the son of Jenny Shepard and Leroy Jethro Gibbs and the grandson of Colonel Jasper Shepard, and he wasn't going to let this man break him. He didn't care what people thought of his grandfather; it was all rumors and lies. He'd been a hero, and Connor knew it.

He tried to push his pain from his injuries away, to compartmentalize like some of the football players at school said they could. He wasn't a baby or a little kid any more, and whining and crying wouldn't make these guys go any easier on him. He had to be strong and tough, he had to honor his family.

Connor sucked in a breath—only a single one—trying to make the pain go away, blinking back the tears in his eyes. He squared his shoulders, staring at the man, somehow pushing down the sobs and fear that clawed up the back of his throat.

"Wonder if I can get extra credit at school for pronouncing your name right. _La Grenouille_, right? 'La' means female though and that makes no sense. Why not some cool name like…the tiger, or the scorpion. _Le tigre _or_ le scorpion._ Or you could just be the delusional old man, _le vieil homme illusoire_, isn't that how you say that? _Je parle français couramment,_ I'm fluent in French. My folks met in Paris and Mom had me in immersion learning."

He supposed the Frog knew all that already. He'd found Connor and Connor knew he wasn't exactly easy to discover. He had to have all the facts or something in a file, either from Trent Kort or from his own people. What did they call those files? Dossiers?

"So I know Fench," Connor continued. He wanted to sound tough, but he had a feeling he sounded bratty instead. What did he have to lose by shooting his mouth off right now? The Frog and Kort were going to hurt him again. Over and over to break him. He would wait to cry until late at night, when he was alone. "_Vous êtes un psychopathe._" Duh! Of course The Frog was a psycho.

"Watch your mouth, you little shit!" Kort backhanded him and Connor's teeth broke through his lower lip again. He could taste blood and the metallic flavor made him want to gag. His jaw trembled, but he held it together, barely, even though the tears were burning behind his eyes and his throat was working to choke back his sobs. "Just as mouthy as your mother. Someone should shut her up. For good."

"That will be quite enough,. Mr. Kort. You know I don't approve of these methods." There was irritation on The Frog's face, but the other guy had something over on him. Even though he'd protested hurting Connor, Kort had shut him up. They'd argued a few times today, and Connor had learned that Kort was a CIA agent offering protection. From what, he didn't know. Maybe from his Mom and NCIS.

When Kort just stood there, the Frog's eyes flashed. "Leave us for the night." The tension didn't go away until the other guy was gone.

Connor could see the Frog relaxing as he sipped his drink slowly. Connor could almost admire him for being mostly cool under pressure. Almost… After Kort left, Connor barely resisted the urge to fidget, wondering if things were getting better or worse now that he was alone with The Frog.

"I saw your mother this evening, Connor. Don't you wonder why she hasn't saved the day yet? Just like your grandfather, she views you as a necessary sacrifice. How sad that neither of your parents are here to rescue you. How old are you, Connor?"

"Thirteen." And a half, he added silently. He tried not to feel hurt about what the Frog said about his mom. It wasn't true, but hearing it still hurt.

"Thirteen and utterly alone. I have a grandson your age. He isn't even permitted to walk to school by himself. And here you are all alone. At least it will prepare you well for when your mother spends the rest of her life incarcerated."

Connor tried not to respond in any way, but he flinched. He couldn't help it.

"Oh, the young man reacts. Your mother gave me her gun tonight. Staging my murder would be quite fun. You're quite the genius, Connor. How would you stage it?"

He wasn't doing that. He wasn't going to help this man hurt his mother.

"Connor, I asked you a question. Do I need to call Kort back and have him use the pliers again?" From the expression on the man's face, Connor could tell he didn't enjoy it, but he wondered if the Frog would do it, would torture him himself. He didn't think so, but he wasn't going to test that, either.

Connor shrugged, but inside he was crying. He didn't know if he could handle losing another finger or toenail without crying, or screaming, or begging for them to stop.

"You like games. Perhaps we could play a game of chess, talk it over."

Connor mustered up every bit of Gibbs/Shepard strength he had. "I'll play a game, sir. But I'd like to choose it."

"As you wish, young man. What game will we play?"

"Russian roulette. My rules."

Could he really kill a man to make sure his mom was safe? He'd handled guns before—at school and at the ranges with mom—but this was different.

"Are you sure, Mr. Shepard? You could die."

Connor tried not to shake and nodded his head. His mind raced and he was glad he'd seen some spy movies last weekend at school. The idea was right from one of them. Or maybe a comic book. He hurt so much that he couldn't remember.

"So could you, sir. I'm sure. I'll take my mother's gun and load it in front of you. I'll go first and if I'm alive afterward, we'll reset the gun. If we're both here afterward, you cut the torture out, okay? If we're not, the one still standing wins. I know that you want me here, but torturing me and not letting Mom know isn't doing anything but hurting me. They probably won't find out until breakfast that the kid you guys put in my bed isn't me. No benefit. How would you like it if someone was trying to break one of your grandkids just for sport?"

He didn't know how he managed to make the whole speech without blubbering like a first grader, but he did.

"Your mother's gun is a semi-automatic, Connor. Do you think I'm that naïve? Chances of death would be one hundred percent and you don't seem like the type of young man to be so reckless. I, did, however, requisition a gun from the shooting locker at your school that will work." The man placed Connor's mother's gun on the table and then added another.

Connor took a deep breath, the first part of his plan being crushed. He was going to shoot the bastard in cold blood, playing Russian roulette the traditional way would do. He took the gun and unloaded it, counting off rounds. "There's six, one is going back in." He lined up the bullets on the table and took one back, spinning the chamber thoughtfully. His mother had made sure he knew how to shoot for his own protection and he was very comfortable with guns and the mechanics behind them.

"So comfortable with weapons at your tender age. I hear you're quite the marksman, Connor Shepard." The Frog gave Connor an oily smile. "Or should I say Connor Gibbs, though you don't use your father's last name, do you? I saw him tonight as well."

Connor felt himself wince, but he didn't say anything. He couldn't think of his mom—or dad—in danger right now. They weren't here, the bad guy was, and he had to get himself out of this situation on his own.

Connor put the gun down, hoping the magic classes he'd been taking would serve him well. He prayed quietly, coughing and shoving the bullet into his mouth, slipping the metal shield under his tongue while pretending to load the round. "Here goes nothing."

He lifted the gun, placing it to his right temple and never breaking the man's gaze. Connor couldn't help flinching when he depressed the trigger, his hands shaking and wet with sweat.

"Well done. You're still here. My turn, then? Reload the weapon, young man. New bullet."

Connor nodded, his mind racing. How was he going to do this and bury the forensics? Mom worked with the forensics queen and a dead person was still a dead person. Or did that even matter? "Outside, I want to do it outside, sir." At least that way, the Frog wouldn't get to count the bullets. Connor had always been underestimated and this time he'd show them all. Even if his mother and father didn't care, Connor did.

"As you wish. Your mother's gun stays behind. Take one bullet. We load it outside." Connor coughed a few times, hiding the bullet he'd hidden in his mouth and shoving his hands in his pockets, along with the bullet. The Frog stared hard at the bullets, fingering one and holding it up, finally placing it in Connor's hand. Connor carried the gun, but handed over the bullet.

The night was cold, especially for a DC winter, and Connor shivered, wishing he had his school jacket. He didn't say a word as he loaded the weapon, the man watching his every move, but held back before handing it over.

"Can you answer me one question? Is my grandfather alive?"

The Frog gave him a small smile. "You'll find out soon enough, Connor. I can't possibly let you go free after all we've been through."

"I thought as much." It made Connor's decision so much easier. He handed over the gun, standing tall, meeting La Grenouille eye to eye, pulling himself up to his full height. The man was leaning slightly against the railing. It'd make it even easier for Connor to take him by surprise. He wasn't a big guy and he was only five six after his latest growth spurt, but he was fast and quick and he would do this for Mom. "Good luck, sir."

La Grenouille placed the gun to his left temple and began to squeeze the trigger when Connor made his move. It was easy to use the man's position against him and squeeze the trigger until his head exploded, his eyes surprised. He hadn't even struggled.

"That was for Mom, and for my grandfather. And for me," Connor said, barely holding back his sobs. He stood there, pinning the man until he died, then manhandled the body over the side of the yacht, grunting and groaning with the effort, tears pouring down his face, his body shaking. He had to get out of there. He needed his Mom.

Jenny was waiting until morning to get Connor from school. It was time; she'd let the situation spiral so far out of control. She'd spent a good deal of the evening nursing drinks with Jethro, ignoring his lecture on La Grenouille, but he had gone an hour ago to see how Ziva and McGee were doing getting the warrant. The school had checked on Connor and he was sleeping off the flu soundly.

Things were heating up, and she wanted her son out of the city. While La Grenouille hadn't mentioned her son by name, he had let her know she had a lot to lose. If he didn't know all the details about Connor, he suspected, and that made her boy a target. After such extraordinary measures had been taken to keep his existence quiet, Jen was not having her son in the line of fire. She would never put her son in harm's way again. If they got through this intact, everything would change.

She owed Connor a great deal, but first and foremost, she owed him his safety. She'd tried to prepare him all these years, knowing that he was in danger just by her position. As she moved her way up the ranks of NCIS, she had enrolled him in self defense classes, martial arts, shooting, even the magic classes he seemed to be enjoying so much. And she made sure he always had money, a credit card, a burn phone. She'd raised her son to be independent and resourceful, in the hopes that he would be able to handle any situations that came up. Hoping he never would.

Jenny grabbed a knife as she heard the lock on the front door disengage La Grenouille had taken the gun she'd offered him and she wished she had it back. But when she snuck out of the den, she could never have imagined the sight that greeted her.

"Mommy!" It had taken Connor a couple of hours to make it from the marina to Georgetown, and it had to be like one or two in the morning now. He was in a lot of pain and exhausted. His left pinky was at a strange angle, he had toenails missing on his left foot, the nail bed on his finger was throbbing and his lip was all swollen. And he'd killed his first person.

He limped into the house, looking around. It was dark, all except Mom's study and he limped toward it, needing her.

"It hurts." He didn't have to be tough and strong any more. He just wanted his mom.

"Connor!" What had happened to her little boy? He was limping, bloody. Someone had assaulted him, had tried to hurt her baby while he was lying in a bed at his school, sick with the flu? Would La Grenouille have struck so soon? "Who did this to you? Can you walk? I need to get you to the hospital."

"No! Please!" What if they found gunpowder on him? "I just want you to help."

"Connor James Shepard, I want the truth. Who did this? You didn't sneak out of school again, did you? U Street is no place for you to be, and I don't care what trendy band is playing there. You're not old enough for that." She stroked his hair, pulling him close, barely resisting the urge to rock him back and forth.

He looked up at her. "Mom, my clothes are all wet and stuff. Can you get me clean stuff, please? I'm cold."

Jenny didn't want to let go of her boy, but he was shivering. "When I get back, I want answers and don't think I won't call your boarding school and find out how my sleeping son couldn't possibly have been in bed. Which friend did you bribe this time, Connor?"

Connor nodded. "'Kay, Mom. Answers." As soon as she was gone, he pulled his clothes off, wadding them up and tossing them in the fireplace. He watched them burn, fascinated by the fire, moving as close as he could to warm himself up.

"Connor! Those are expensive clothes! What are you doing?" His mom looked shocked and worried, and he cringed back for a second, expecting to be hit even though his mom had never done that.

Connor started to bite his lip, and then winced at the old habit. His lip hurt a lot. He knew he needed to tell his mother the truth, but even remembering it was hard. "I know. It wasn't school or U Street, Mom. It was La Grenouille and his friend Kort. But it's okay now, Mom. It's okay."

Jenny couldn't focus her thoughts. They'd gotten to Connor. They'd taken him and…hurt him. She knew with a mother's instinct that they were responsible for his physical injuries and mental state. She would deal with them, but only after she knew Connor was okay. Her little boy was trying to look so strong and brave, but he was shaking and there was something in his eyes that frightened her. Something far too adult, something that shook her very being. "Connor, what have you done?"

"Survived, Mom. Since this afternoon. My feet hurt so bad. They pulled off my toenails. And my finger is broken. And…my face hurts." Her little baby sat there naked and shivering, trying to curl into himself. Jenny dropped the pajamas she'd gotten for Connor and wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, gathering him close and onto her lap. And he let her, which scared her all the more. He wasn't pulling away, ducking his head, acting like the teenager he was.

She stared into the fire, an unsetting thought suddenly hitting her, a strangled sound she barely muted trying to come up her throat. My God, he had deliberately destroyed evidence. She reached for his hands, bringing them close to her face. "Oh, Connor," she whispered, knowing he'd fired a gun recently by the slight scent of cordite still clinging to them.

"Let me patch you up, honey. I think the rest can wait until morning. I'm here and they're never going to hurt you again." Jenny gently shifted Connor off her lap and poured a small measure of gin, collecting a couple of pills. She had some mild tranquilizers, and between those and a couple of sips of alcohol, that would take the edge off and allow her son a little peace.

"Drink this, honey, and take these. When the pain is a little less, I'll work on your injuries. Is there anything else? Have you been assaulted more…intimately?" She hated even thinking that, but these were monsters who hadn't hesitated to hurt her child.

Connor took the drink and gulped it down. "That cognac was smoother. Courvoisier. I like that word." He sighed. "Just my hands and feet mostly, Mom. I have some bruised ribs and my face hurts, and my pinky is broken. Beside that, they only screwed with my mind."

She stroked his hair, relieved to know it hadn't been worse, furious that they had gotten to her son, frightened about who he'd shot at and the circumstances that led him to it. "You're safe, honey. They'll never touch you again."

"I know. They won't hurt you either, Mom." Connor's eyes fluttered shut.

Jenny waited until his breathing evened out before she allowed the tears to fall. She was furious, betrayed, the CIA would be hearing about this, she'd rip Kort's balls off with her bare hands, if Connor hadn't killed him. But moreover she was heartbroken that her thirteen-year-old had become collateral damage. No child should be forced to shoot a gun to protect his parent, but it seemed to be the Shepard family legacy.

Jenny stared into the darkness, knowing it was time for Connor to meet the Gibbs side of his family. Keeping him hidden hadn't protected him, and she'd promised him that when Jethro's mind and body seemed one hundred percent, they'd meet. But her agenda with the arms dealer had taken precedence after he'd come back from Mexico, and now Connor had become collateral damage.

Jenny reached for the phone and then pulled back. Not now, not yet. Connor was protecting her from the truth and she'd do the same for Jethro. She and Jethro had provided each other an alibi if it came to that, and Jenny would protect Connor with her life. If there was a dead arms dealer or an injured CIA agent, the less people who knew, the better.

But she had to hear Jethro's voice, as weak as it made her seem. She got his voice mail and tried to sound sleepy. "Just checking on the warrant. Call me."

She didn't want to shoulder this alone. Connor needed someone but she couldn't go to Tom Morrow, or Jethro. Or anyone.

No, this had to remain her secret for now. But someday Jethro and Connor would meet, when it was safer, when the situation was much less hot and when Connor had healed, she would make it happen. Keeping them apart wasn't doing either of them any good.

Jenny pulled her sleeping boy into her arms, rocking him much as she had when he had been much younger. "I love you, Connor. I'm so sorry. Whatever happened, it's okay and we'll get through it together."


End file.
